New Poem

This piece is was written specifically for the Improbable Places Poetry Tour, held at a local laundromat. Still a work in progress. It's also a birthday poem, so it seems appropriate to post it now.

Denim

Alone in the basement,I take off my pajama bottomsand slide warm denimfrom the dryer over my thighs.They unfurl like a blue flagtighter than I remember,hanging lower and snuggeraround my hips than before.This is how 42 feels: authentic,comfortable, dangerously curvy,a little distressed along the pockets.I run my hands over the weft and weavesmooth the creases over the inseam,that junction between the invisible and visibleat the intersection of the crotch.The long cursive of my legsis my signature. Blessed bethe soap and hard waterthat makes it all come clean.Like fallen halos,white rings of snow saltonce around my cuffstumbled away in turbulence,my past sins absolved.Everything smells April fresh,of mountain breezes and waterfalls.My body retrofits to these grooves and furrows,and the selvage that never fades.